The Socialite and the Cattle King Read Free

Murray as she moved from table to table introducing herself to everyone. When his gaze came back to her, he posed another question. ‘Why are you here?’
    ‘I came with my mother.’
    A glint of amusement lit his dark eyes. ‘That sounds as if it came from a list of excuses the Department of Transport publishes occasionally: “my mother told me to hurry up, that’s why I was exceeding the speed limit”.’
    If she hadn’t been so annoyed, if it hadn’t been so apt, Holly would have seen the humour of this.
    ‘Clever,’ she said coldly. ‘But I have to tell you, I’m already regretting it. And, for your further information, I don’t approve of this kind of fund-raising.’
    He lifted a lazy eyebrow. ‘Strange, that. You look so very much the part.’
    ‘What part ?’ she asked arctically.
    He shrugged. ‘The professional, serial socialite. The embodiment of conspicuous philanthropy in order to climb the social ladder.’ He glanced at her left hand, which happened to be bare of rings. ‘Maybe even in the market for a rich husband?’ he added with soft but lethal irony.
    Holly gasped, and gasped again, as his gaze flickered over her and came back to rest squarely on her décolletage; she had no doubt that he was mentally undressing her.
    Then she clenched her teeth as it crossed her mind that she should have stuck to her guns. She should not be sitting there all dolled up to the nines, with her hair strangled up and starting to give her a headache, all to support a cause but giving off the wrong messages entirely. Obviously!
    On the other hand, she thought swiftly, that did not give this man the right to insult her.
    ‘If you’ll forgive me for saying so,’ she retorted, ‘I think your manners are atrocious.’
    ‘Oh. In what way?’
    ‘How or why I’m here has nothing whatsoever to do with you and if you mentally undress me once more who knows what I might be prompted to do? I am,’ she added, ‘quite able to take care of myself, and I’m not wet behind the ears.’
    ‘Fighting words,’ he murmured. ‘But there is this—’
    ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she broke in. ‘It’schemistry.’ She looked at him scornfully. ‘That is such an old, dead one! Even my Mexican bandit didn’t use that one although, come to think of it, the sheikh did. Well, I think that’s what he was saying.’ She tipped her hand as if to say, ‘you win some, you lose some’.
    He blinked. ‘Sounds as if you have an interesting life.’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘You’re not making it all up?’
    ‘No.’ Holly folded her arms and waited.
    ‘What?’ he queried after a moment, with utterly false trepidation.
    ‘I thought an apology might be appropriate.’
    He said nothing, just gazed at her, and after a pensive moment on her part they were exchanging a long, telling look which came as quite a surprise to Holly. The luncheon and its environs receded and it was if there was only the two of them…
    Whatever was happening for him, for Holly it became a drawing-in, not only visually but through her pores, of the essence of this man and the acknowledgement that his physical properties were extremely fine. He was not only tall, he was tanned, and he looked exceedingly fit, as if sitting at charity luncheons did not come naturally to him. His hands were long and well-shaped. His dark hair was crisp and short, and the lines and angles of his face were interesting but not easy to read.
    In fact, she summarized to herself, there was something inherently dangerous but dynamically attractive about him that made you think of him having his hands on your body, his exciting, expert, mind-blowing way with you.
    That’s ridiculous , she told herself as a strange little thrill ran through her. That’s such a girlish fantasy!
    Nevertheless, it continued to do strange things to her.
    It altered the rate of her breathing, for example. It caused a little pulse to beat rather wildly at the base of her throat so that her pearls